The Rose of the World
by Doctor Madwoman
Summary: After the trial at Bridewell Palace, 1529, Katherine of Aragon makes a choice that alters her life and the lives of those closest to her forevermore.
1. Broken Dreams

Chapter One: The Living Beauty

Summary: Katherine, tired of Henry's cruelty and neglect, contemplates a different path.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters within. I barely even own the idea behind this story. Thanks _so much_, Rachel.

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"_There is gray in your hair,_

_Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath_

_When you are passing;_

_But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing_

_Because it was your prayer_

_Recovered him upon the bed of death._

_For your sole sake-that all heart's ache have known,_

_And given to others all heart's ache,_

_From meager girlhood's putting on_

_Burdensome beauty-for your sole sake_

_Heavens have put away the stroke of her doom,_

_So great her portion in that peace you make_

_By merely walking in a room."_

Excerpt from W.B Yeats'_ Broken Dreams_

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**Bridewell, Queen's apartments, June 1529**

The wine in her cup, the sweetest to be found in the cellar, tasted bitter. Flavored with defeat, thick with sorrow, she drank it down without a word, her eyes staring fixedly out the window at the dreary world outside.

It was raining.

_So you were a fucking virgin! That's not the point!_

Again and again Katherine turned Henry's words over in her mind, recalling the redness of his face, the way fury twisted his handsome features into an ugly mask, the flecks of spittle that had flown from his mouth as he bellowed at her.

Another sip, and the wine of loss flowed smoothly over her tongue.

The slamming door, the sting of unshed tears in her eyes, her heart breaking anew as she sat there…what a black day this had been. She had spoken the truth, and naught but the truth, before the Court today and it had brought her nothing save more pain.

But there still was hope, was there not? These cases took time, after all, and decisions from his Holiness did not happen overnight. Surely, justice was on her side. The Court would find in her favor, and she and Henry would come together again…

Even as Katherine tried to be hopeful, her mind kept dwelling on Henry. Henry of the icy eyes, Henry of the fierce temper and cruel words, Henry of the stubborn and unforgiving heart.

Henry the Eighth, King of England.

Katherine drained her cup and turned her eyes away from the torrents of rain, reaching instead for the pitcher she had Elizabeth leave out for her. Even as she poured more wine, she admonished herself for such an undignified pastime. It was not seemly for the Queen of England to get drunk, no matter the provocation.

The Queen sighed and leaned her head back against her chair, closing her weary eyes for a blissful moment.

"Your Majesty, Sir Thomas More is here to see you."

Opening one eye, Katherine saw Lady Darrel standing in the doorway, her thin, pretty face pale with tension and sadness. Beyond her, in the watery light of the corridor, stood Thomas.

Her Thomas.

"Send him in, Elizabeth."

At a nod and a curtsey from the Lady, More strode into the room, smiling gently at Katherine as he knelt before her and took her hand between his.

"My Queen."

Light as a feather, his lips brushed the back of her hand, an all too fleeting comfort on this long, trying day. Though she reminded herself that she was a married woman, a woman of faith and integrity, Katherine could not wholly keep herself from yearning towards him.

"Sir Thomas, I cannot say how wonderful it is to see you." She murmured, not even able to summon up the shadow of a smile for her love. With an elegant hand she gestured to the chair across from her, inviting him to sit, to keep her company.

"You may leave us, Lady Darrell."

There was silence in the chamber as the Queen and the Lord Chancellor waited until the sound of the Lady's footsteps faded outside the door, and soon they were quite alone. Still there was the quiet between them, sharp and brittle like flint. Thomas More stared at Katherine, stared at her sad eyes and her wine reddened lips (lips he longed to touch, lips he longed to taste) and felt a subtle helplessness. What could he do? Her marriage, her very principles, were being destroyed, even as she was humiliated before all of the world and her heart was broken again and again, day after day. What could he do in this time of wickedness and insanity to help the one he loved more than his own life?

"You have been drinking,"

"Yes. I think I may have earned the right today." Katherine said, a dry little chuckle chasing her words as she took another mouthful of wine. Her eyes- so beautiful in laughter and joy- were dark, veiled by sorrow. It filled her, clung to her like a cloak, lending to her an achingly noble grace. Even now, when her fighting spirit was at its lowest ebb, she was the most beautiful woman Thomas More had ever seen.

"I am afraid that I am quite unmanned, Katherine. I came here as soon as I could, to bring you comfort…and now that I am here I cannot see what help I might give."

"You came to me, Thomas. You look upon me with a loving countenance and speak to me with nothing save tenderness in your voice. It is enough."

Her voice was quiet, laced with bitterness. This was not Katherine speaking to him now. Katherine was warmth, was care and honor and kindness. With that one frigid word, that harshly whispered '_enough_', she seemed to leave him behind for a place far from Bridewell, a stranger left sitting in her place. A changeling-woman. Where was the real Katherine, how could he bring her back?

As though she could read his troubled thoughts, Katherine stirred in her seat and sat taller, her eyes clearing slightly as she surfaced into the present moment.

"My apologies, Thomas, I am being a neglectful hostess. Would you care for a little wine? A fine vintage, though I am most saddened to report that it is French." The Queen quipped, setting aside her own goblet and reaching for the half empty pitcher on the table. Thomas spied his opportunity, hovering golden and gossamer in the moment, and he closed his hand over hers on the handle of the pitcher. Rough clay over fine white porcelain; one blunt and masculine and the other soft and feminine; a beautiful contrast, if one took the time to appreciate it. But it was not the contrast of their flesh that Thomas saw; he was seeing only the woman before him, the one being who was his other half in mind, heart and soul.

"Katherine."

Their eyes met, brown peering intently into blue, and Thomas' voice was so low and urgent that Katherine forgot her hurts and gave herself fully to this moment between them.

"What is it, Thomas?"

"You have gone through so much these few years past …and I must tell you that no matter the outcome of this sordid affair, I will always love you. And I will stand by your side until the Day of Judgment comes. You shall never fight alone, my Queen." He whispered, leaning forward in his chair until their faces were scant inches apart. Feeling a sharp, sweet ache in her breast, Katherine closed her eyes and drew a hitching breath, a sharp sting building at the corners of her eyes. Oh, God, if she had been born but a simple Englishwoman…she would have known only joy as this man's wife.

"Thank you, Thomas, thank you. It has been very…very _trying _these last few months and I…I feel that I shall..." She felt shame for the hot tears that clung to her lashes, blurring her sight. Disgusted, she shut her eyes, tried to hold the flood at bay. She was stronger than this, so much stronger. Her mother never would have wept, never would have shown such weakness…Isabella of Castile would fight whatever stood against her, and so too would her daughter.

A gentle touch upon her cheek told her that Thomas was not fooled.

"Shh, Katherine, do not weep. It's going to be all right, mark my words. Rome will find in your favor, do not think for a moment that they will not. You are England's rightful Queen, and the true wife of our King. No one on this earth can change that." He murmured softly, wiping tears from her skin with the pad of his thumb. She nodded, but bit her lip harshly, her shoulders trembling. She was on the very brink of breaking down, now, and he knew she would hate herself for it.

"Even if your case was not obviously in the right, I wager you won the Legate over with your words to the King. Beautifully spoken, my dear, and you shamed every man there with your eloquence. My God, you were an Amazon in the Courtroom!"

He was rewarded with a tiny, tremulous smile, and a chuckle that, though small and sad, was chuckle never the less. A triumph.

"I suppose I should be thankful that _one_ person took my words to heart." She said softly, and she blotted her tears with the heel of her hand. The great woman sniffed, straightened in her seat and seemed to gather her composure once more. And not for the first or last time in his life, Thomas More was grieved that his love felt that she had to wear this mask of calm even before him, who knew her better than any man living.

"I was not alone, Katherine. Dozens of those present were moved by your plea…including the King. You saw his face. You saw that he, too, was touched when you spoke of your honest love and devotion to him."

Katherine's sad smile slowly faded away, and suddenly there was coldness to her eyes, sharp and glittering as ice.

"He was not as affected as one might think, Thomas. We spoke not too long ago, wherein he made it plain to me that he still considers me little better than his unwitting whore."

Thomas stared, his brows knitting together at Katherine's words. He did not wish to believe that his student and friend would use such language with a woman such as Katherine, but in recent days Henry had proved he was more than capable of insulting his wife and worse…

"Surely he did not say such a terrible thing to you, Katherine." He said lowly, tension slowly coiling ever more tightly within his gut.

"It was implied," she answered tartly. "Besides this, his Majesty claimed the Court would find in his favor, and that even if they did not he would revile the Pope as a heretic and wed Mistress Boleyn as soon as he pleased." Thomas blanched, his heart seeming to plummet into his bowels. God in Heaven, what was Harry thinking? Defying the Pope, undermining papal authority in England…Christ, the very idea was heresy!

"He cannot mean that." He whispered. Katherine shook her head, grief consuming her anger, smothering its flame.

"He does. Oh, Thomas, I believe that he does. I tried, one time more, to tell him that Arthur never knew my body carnally, and he shouted at me. He was so _furious_…I thought for a moment that he might strike me." She murmured, looking away into the flames dancing in the fireplace. Her gallant Sir Thomas caught her hand, squeezed it, his eyes black and pensive. He was as troubled as she, as helpless.

"Henry…he is not the man I married years ago. The sweet young man is gone…I feel as though I have been widowed. He is harsher, less attentive to the wants and feelings of others. And he is cruel. So very cruel…"

The Queen trailed away into silence, tilted her head down with a sigh. Her despairing words reverberated in Thomas More's thoughts, coaxing his own dark collection of observations and fears out of the shadowy corners of his mind. _Cruel. _He recalled the look of contempt the King had thrown Wolsey earlier in the day, and knew that the Cardinal was doomed. Wolsey, despite years of friendship and good service to the King, would be punished simply for failing to deliver to the King what he wanted, when he wanted it. More thought too of the merchant who had been hung last autumn for speaking out against the King's Great Matter and abusing the Mistress Anne with foul words. A good man, all told, but he had dared question the King's actions, dared to insult his precious 'true love'…

Henry could indeed be cruel. Not even Wolsey, one of his dearest friends and advisors, would be safe when his day came. The Harry Thomas More knew and loved like a son was gone forevermore, replaced by a despot, and they were all at his mercy.

He looked to Katherine then, his Queen stubborn and unyielding and absolutely certain that she was right. To admit otherwise would damn her soul, and that of her husband, to Hell for all eternity, this Thomas knew in his heart. She would fight for her soul and for Henry's and above all for her daughter's rights as the King's sole legitimate heir, and nothing would dissuade her.

Nothing.

The truth made Thomas More ill with fear.

Courageous and obstinate as she was, Katherine would go toe to toe with her formidable husband without care for her own earthly safety. Henry's patience was rapidly running out, and Thomas knew that it was only a matter of time before the King used harsher methods to force Katherine out of the battle.

As King he could do whatever he wanted to Katherine, anything at all, no matter what respect her title and lineage demanded. With the Whore whispering in Henry's ear at all hours, there was nothing he would not stoop to.

"My Queen, my lovely Lady, I beg of you not to take offense at what I next say, for I mean none." He said suddenly, reaching out to touch her cheek, drawing her attention back onto his pale, anxious face. He felt raw inside, wild with the dark truths in his mind, sick with guilt when he saw Katherine look at him with the first traces of betrayal in her eyes. He was going to break her heart, tear away her hope and her comfort and dash them against the far wall, and for a black moment Thomas More hated himself for what he was about to do.

But then he saw Katherine in his mind's eye, imprisoned, impoverished, humiliated and degraded like some common slut. Her household diminished, her finances cut again and again, leaving nothing for food or fuel. Starvation. Dishonor. _Death._

"Katherine, listen. _Listen._ You know better than anyone how volatile the King's temper is. You _know_ what he can do when he is angry and wants his way. It is the unspoken law of the land that whatever the King wants, he _gets_." He whispered intensely, his knuckles white from the grip he had on her hand.

"Oh, yes, that I know." The Queen said quietly. There had been a time, not even thirty years ago, when she had been what Henry had desired, and he had sworn to pursue her to the very ends of the Earth, if need be.

"Surely you understand what might lie in store for you if you should continue on this path? Wrongfully or not, Henry wants this annulment, and he wants that Boleyn girl, and I firmly believe that he will do absolutely anything to have his way…including hurt you in any way he can."

He was certain that he must be hurting her hand, and hurting her heart, but Katherine still kept her mask of calm.

"I know." She said again, just as quietly as before. Her eyes did not leave his, and he could see that not a word of his argument was going to make her change her mind. More felt like screaming, felt like beating the tables and chairs about him until they were but shattered reminders of their original form and he was empty of his care for her.

"Don't you understand? If things a carry on in this way, he could have you _killed_, Katherine, he could have _Mary _killed!" Thomas snarled, his voice at last carrying a hint of the frustration that had been boiling under his skin for months now.

Katherine flinched at this, as though he had raised a hand to strike her, and More immediately shut his mouth. He had done enough for now.

"I know that too, Thomas. But have I any other choice besides fighting? If I sit passively by, I will be declared a whore and my daughter will lose her rights to the Crown. And I will die before I see that happen."

"There is another choice. You could negotiate with Henry…make certain conditions, and then…" Thomas whispered hoarsely. Katherine tore her hand from his and leveled a stony glare at him.

"That is _no _choice, Thomas! Divorce is disallowed by the Church, as well you know." She hissed. Thomas felt sick as he gave a small, unhappy shrug of his shoulders.

"But it is better than an annulment. You will be the former wife of his Majesty, not his unknowing harlot, and Mary will be a Princess still. Wolsey once said to me that the Pope always finds an excuse to allow a Royal divorce. And it is so."

"I cannot believe you are even suggesting this to me! _You_, of all people!" she cried, her voice high and sharp with emotion. Furious, heartbroken by his traitorous words, Katherine lunged to her feet and turned her back on Thomas, striding over to the window. She peered out at a world that was blunted and shrouded by fog. Thick sliver mist rolled over the palace's roofs and turrets, leaving a strange unseasonable chill that permeated everything, and it seemed to Katherine that it had infiltrated her heart.

How could he do this to her? She trusted him, she depended upon him, she _loved _him…

Behind her, Katherine heard Thomas get to his feet and slowly walk up to her. He stopped a mere handbreadth away from her back, standing so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body, smell his unique scent of leather and old books.

"Katherine."

He lifted his hands to rest on her arms, holding her firmly as he leaned down a little, his breath tickling the nape of her neck. He spoke her name, quietly, tenderly, his voice low and rumbling with a decades old ache.

"Please understand…I could not bear to see you harmed. I would do anything to keep you safe and content; you know that…that is why I am begging you to consider divorce. For Mary's sake, and for your own. Know that I will always follow you, whatever you decide."

She was trembling under his hands, unable to speak, unable to breath, suddenly so overwhelmed that she could not bear to be near him a moment longer.

"Please. Just leave."

"As you wish."

He bent his head and gently kissed her bare shoulder, his mouth lingering a long moment on her skin. And a heartbeat later he was gone, tearing himself away from her and striding to the door, leaving Katherine weak kneed and weeping silently before the window and its milky view.

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Well, ladies and gentlemen, we have here my newest _Tudors_ story, and I don't think there's any way I can fit more fan service in this thing even if my life depended on it. I'll be using the historical timeline, as you can see, though what happens in the next chapter may or may not hinder/speed certain events up.

So, keep an eye out, and kindly drop me a review. I think this chapter is a bit too full of wangst, don't you agree? And it's a bit bombastic…and constructive criticism would be most welcome.

A biiiig hug to Trivial Queen for saving my arse with this chapter. I owe you some FalKat, dearie, no mistake!

You obedient servant (in some things),

Doctor Madwoman


	2. Boadicea

Chapter Two: Boadicea

Summary: Katherine pays a few calls and comes to a decision.

Disclaimer: If I owned the rights to _The Tudors_, we'd see nothing of Henry or Anne. All TomKat, all the time.

A huge thank you to those of you who dropped me a line and rocked my world. I love all of you and would offer to bear your children if A) That didn't just sound utterly _wrong_ and B) I'm pretty sure most, if not all, of my reviewers are female, so unless someone wants to shell out for artificial insemination, we're out of luck.

_Moving on._

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"_Fight the foe!_

_Fight the foe!_

_Sang the Warrior Queen._

_The Lion looks proud in the shade of the Tree,_

_But the Lioness hunts down the prey,_

_The Victor is She."_

-Chorus of _Boadicea_, by Steven MacDonald

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**June 22, 1529**

Willoughby Estates, Hertfordshire

She drowsed, hands folded over her middle as she allowed slim, worn fingers to stroke through her ink black hair. The bedchamber was quiet, simply furnished, and free from the prying eyes of Wolsey's well-paid spies. The perfect haven for a weary, heart sore Queen. Here was warmth, here was security and friendship and trust.

"Thank you, Maria, for receiving me so graciously." She murmured, turning her head to look up into the beloved face of her oldest and dearest friend. Maria smiled, the corners of her mouth creasing, and smoothed her palm over her Queen's brow.

"There is no need to offer thanks, Catalina. You call me, and I am there. It has always been so." Lady Willoughby said simply, as calm and sweet as a spring morn.

"I have not visited you for two years, Maria. Surely you must think poorly of me for showing up at your door, with so little warning."

"I could no more think badly of you than I could think badly of the Pope, dear, and you know that. Besides, you are not to blame for the want of your company. The fault falls entirely with that great bloody fool you call husband." Maria stated dryly.

"Ah, Maria, I am not worthy of you." Katherine sighed, smiling slightly. Not even a month ago, she would have come to her husband's defense, chastising Maria for calling the King a fool and swiftly changing the subject. It was a mark of how badly her marriage had deteriorated that she did not do so now.

"Hush, now, _amiga_, and tell me what brings you here. It is plain that it has something to do with this Great Matter, but it seems to me there is something more."

Katherine sat up, propping her back against the intricately carved headboard of Maria's bed and tiredly rubbing at her eyes. She would be glad of a little more rest, but she needed to do what she had come here to do.

"You were always skilled at seeing to the heart of matters, Maria. You can help me where I suspect no other can."

Lady Willoughby had gone quiet, leaning her head against the headboard and watching Katherine with fathomless eyes. The Queen knew by the time their talk was done, the sun would be nestled in its black velvet bed and Maria would have leaves and flowers imprinted on her cheek.

"I have a dilemma, and I need another mind to set against it –your mind, for you have always been the wiser of our pair, and you will note things that I do not, and you will be honest with me, as you always have been. I am defeated without you."

"Your Majesty wastes valuable time with your blatant flattery."

"_Maria_." Katherine said.

"Yes?" returned the other, sweetly.

"Sir Thomas visited me after the trial."

Maria went silent again, staring at her Queen with rapt attention. She, and she alone, knew of the love that Katherine and Sir Thomas had for one another. She had watched it bloom within Katherine, many years ago, and had witnessed the breaking of Thomas More's heart on the Infanta's wedding day before that. It was she who comforted Katherine during her final years of widowhood, when she had fallen into a black despair at the news of Thomas marrying young Joan Colt. She was the one who patted More's shoulder in sympathy as he watched the King swing a laughing Katherine around the ballroom, heartbreak in his eyes. Through every stage of their love, every milestone, Maria Willoughby had been there.

"What happened?" Maria asked, plainly. There was no point in wasting time on pleasantries at this stage; politeness had no place. All that mattered was honesty and then, pray God, action.

"We talked. It was possibly the unhappiest conversation we have ever had. We spoke of the trial, of course, and my future path. In that moment the only option I could see was fighting for my daughter and myself, but then Thomas presented another choice, one that until now I had not dared consider."

Katherine had a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke, sitting so still in Maria's bed. She was back in that sitting room, with Sir Thomas. Lady Willoughby waited, her breath coming shallowly in anticipation.

"He suggested that I talk with Henry, and negotiate the terms of a divorce. Haggle for Mary's rights to the throne, then surrender."

"_Thomas _suggested this?" Maria demanded, and the note of incredulity in her voice was deeply satisfying to Katherine.

"It is because he worries for Mary and I, or so he says. I admit, I myself have had…concerns. The King…" Katherine trailed off, looked at her hands. She did not need to continue.

"I had thought that _he_, of anyone, would understand why I cannot go down that road. I was so sure of it. He knows that, should I give in, my daughter's future would be stolen from her, my honor would be destroyed, and my soul would face Hell's flames for defiling the sanctity of marriage."

Maria did not immediately reply to that. The quiet lasted for only a few heartbeats, but to the unhappy Queen empires could have been birthed and felled in that time.

"Your honor, Catalina…or your pride?"

Lady Willoughby spoke the question so quietly that at first Katherine thought that she might have imagined her voice. Soon, however, she found the truth in the wary look in Maria's eyes. Katherine's eyes widened with disbelief.

"Do you doubt me, Maria. Even you?" she whispered, her throat tightening with emotion.

"Never, my dear Queen. But I know you better than I know myself at times, and I know how this Matter wounds your dignity. You would fight for your honor, it is true…but the people of England love you, Catalina. You need not strive to preserve the reputation you have made for yourself. _You_ are the one the English people consider to be their Queen, you are the one who has been cherished and praised and admired. You are the Queen of Hearts, _amiga_, and you can do no wrong in their eyes."

Katherine was shaking her head, feeling as though her world was crumbling around her. Everything was about to change, she could feel it in her heart of hearts, and God help her she was afraid.

"My dear, just think…_you_ hold the cards. Henry faces the threat of war from Spain as long as he tries to _force _you out of this marriage. But if you were to go on with a divorce, demand that Mary be kept in line for the throne, and then go before the public and claim you are stepping down for the sake of England's future…by God, you would be adored as a _saint_! The former Queen –not a harlot, but a _Queen_- who sacrificed her marriage to the King for England's safety. You and Mary would still be respected, and above all_ safe_. Think of it!" Maria cried, her hands wrapping tightly around Katherine's. The Queen could not look at her, could not look into her friend's eyes and see the truth, see the solution that would solve everything…and destroy all that she knew. Maria was right, she knew this, and Thomas had been right also. She could not deny that an honorable surrender would take care of everything…and yet…surrender was not something that she was familiar with. In the past, Katherine either won her battles or she was beaten and beaten _well_. She had not been raised to simply give in.

_Your honor…or your pride?_

Pride would not let Katherine stand before the world and declare that her marriage was incestuous, for it was not, and she would not let her child be named a bastard. This new choice…it was natural that she did not care for it, but it could settle things. It could.

But she was afraid.

Everything she knew, everything she had fought for would be undone, and she and Mary would be left to tread an unknown, possibly treacherous path.

"If you consented to a divorce, his Holiness would certainly grant a divorce. You need not worry for your soul, my dear." Maria said quietly, thinking that Katherine's silence stemmed from fear for her immortal soul. The Queen nodded, sitting white and fragile among Lady Willoughby's embroidered pillows

"I know that. The Pope would end my marriage, and God's forgiveness would be upon the King and I, but…"

She trailed off, looking down at her nervous little hands, and her friend put her hand under her chin, gently turning her Queen's head so that she could meet her gaze. Maria knew what she would next say was perhaps a little cruel, and certainly impertinent, but it had to be done. For the long term, it was what was best.

"Do you truly love his Majesty? Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you still love him as you once did, and that you are fighting for that love as well as your rights?" she asked firmly, sternly; guiding Katherine's mind to where it needed to be.

Her hands twisted in her lap and Katherine bit the inside of her cheek, ignoring the coppery tang of blood. She turned Maria's question over in her mind, her breath coming shallow as the seconds sped by. Her cheek stung, and the pain kept her grounded, kept her on this earth as the foundation of her life as she knew it cracked asunder.

"No." she whispered, her hand slowing coming up to grip her throat. She trembled, and suddenly gasped as though she were in mortal pain.

"I do not love him…I _have not _loved him for years." Katherine choked, reaching blindly for her friend as the full realization dawned upon her.

"H-he is not the man I married, not any longer. He is not my Harry, not my Sir Loyal Heart and…and I think I have only…only been in love with the _memory _of him. He is changed, Maria, and my heart has been broken so many times…"

The Queen was sobbing now, the words tumbling past her lips to mingle with the sea of grief and bewilderment. Without shame, she fell against her friend, hiding her face in the powdery curve of her neck, clutching at Maria like a small child seeking comfort from her mother. It was as though a dam had broken inside of her, and the years of heartbreak and disappointment

Heart aching in sympathy for her friend, Maria leaned over Katherine and stroked her hair, kissed the crown of her head with maternal affection. At long, long last, her courageous Infanta had acknowledged what she had known in her heart of hearts for years. Things would be better for her, now.

"You know what you must do, Catalina." Whispered Maria, her eyes misting as her friend choked back a fresh wave of tears. But Katherine nodded in her arms, struggling to speak as she fought to reign herself in.

"_Si, Maria, yo comprendo."_

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**July 5, 1529**

**Shropshire, three miles from Ludlow castle**

_You know what you must do._

Katherine watched the bleak moorlands from her coach window, sad and thoughtful. Again and again those words came back to her, reminding Isabella's daughter that this fight was not hers alone. Everything she had done, everything she would do, was for Mary. Before she came before the King, she had to speak to her daughter.

Within the hour, she stood in the cavernous entrance hall of Ludlow castle, the magnificence of the tapestries and furnishings taking nothing away from the fortress' sense of frigid formality. She remembered well how lifeless and intimidating this place was, from her time with Arthur all those years ago. It was hard to imagine a young prince living and learning in this bleak castle in the middle of the wilds. How could anything grow, thrive, within these walls? How could she agree that it was better for Mary to be here, rather than at her mother's side?

"Your Majesty, may I present to you your daughter, the Princess of Wales."

Lady Salisbury-dear, kindly Margaret Pole- beamed at Katherine and swept one of her elaborate curtseys, her head bowed in deference to the one she would always acknowledge as England's Queen.(?)

"Your Majesty?"

The Queen was thrown out of her brooding by the sound of a soft, high voice at the door. Turning, Katherine's gaze fell upon the slender, pale youth standing shyly in the doorway and her heart leapt.

"Mary!"

Without a care for who might see, Katherine pulled her daughter out of her curtsey and hugged her with every ounce of strength she had. Joy suffused her, and for the first time in weeks she felt her mantle of worry slip to the floor. She had her little girl back.

"Oh, my Mary, my lovely girl! Let me look at you, sweetheart…"

For her part, Mary recovered from her initial shock in record time, and fiercely returned her mother's hug, her white face aglow with happiness. Long had it been since she had seen either of her parents, both of them held in London for the Great Matter, far from lonely Ludlow. Her mother dared not leave their affairs unattended, for fear of foul and unjust deeds being undertaken in her absence, and her father was kept at bay by the poisonous whisperings of the Concubine, who saw Mary as naught but an obstacle to be overcome and soon forgotten. Though Lady Salisbury was like a second mother to her, no one on this good green earth could replace her Mama.

"Mother! I have missed you so!"

For a few glorious moments, mother and daughter lost themselves in a merry reunion; Mary swiftly shedding the mask of the dutiful Princess and Katherine happily fussing over her, exclaiming over her current achievements and worrying over her child's poor color.

"Have you not been feeling well, Mary?"

"No, no, Mama, I have been very well. Lady Salisbury is at a loss, no matter how well I eat or how much air I take I look like this-!" the girl laughed, gesturing to her tall, skinny body with a slightly rueful smile. For the first time, Katherine suddenly realized that she was looking _up_ into her daughter's face, and that Mary had to crane her neck _down _to speak with her. When last she had left Mary, the girl was level with her nose. It was quite a startling revelation, for Katherine had taken it for granted that her daughter was smaller than she. It seemed that Mary would stay in the sweet smallness of childhood forever, easily able to hide behind Katherine's skirts for protection or live in happy, innocent oblivion. But now…

The Queen stepped back and noticed that Mary had changed in other ways as well. She had grown taller, certainly, and her hair was no longer the gingery cloud of her younger days; it was a dark, rich auburn, sleek and heavy and beautiful to behold. The girl's face was no longer round and impish, but serious, with a decidedly regal air that made her seem older than her fourteen years. Casting her eyes down, Katherine noticed that her sweet little girl had disappeared into the body of a young woman, with small breasts and narrow hips. She was now wrapped in the coltish, graceless beauty of adolescence, and Katherine felt her heart ache, as though she had lost something precious.

"Mama?"

Mary had noticed her mother staring, and suddenly felt self-conscious. Since she'd started her journey into womanhood, Mary rarely, if ever, felt comfortable in her own body. She was all legs and arms, skinny as a sapling without a curve to speak of and as clumsy as a puppy. Often times she felt like a fool, gangly and ugly, and she was almost happy her parents could not see her. Perhaps her mother thought the same…?

"My God…you are a woman, Mary." The Queen whispered, reaching up and gently cupping her daughter's face in her hands. For a heartbeat, the Princess thought that her mother might cry, but the Queen shook her head and smiled sadly at her.

"Well, it is to be expected, is it not? I only wish I…" Mary's mother trailed off, cleared her throat. She let her hands fall from the Princess' face and linked their arms together.

"I am afraid, sweetheart, that I have come on an unpleasant errand. I wish to speak with you privately," Katherine murmured, gently leading Mary out of the entrance hall and guiding her towards one of the sitting rooms she knew to be close by.

"Is something wrong, Mother? Is the King…?"

"No, dearest, there is nothing wrong. Your father is in good health, and the Matter continues on much as it has for the last few months." Her mother soothed, feeling a little thrill of triumph at the tart expression Mary wore at the mention of the King's Great Matter. God forgive her, she should not feel proud of her daughter for obviously disapproving of her father…but then, how could she not? Such a fierce, loyal girl she had!

"You say that the King's Matter is unchanged, Mother…but I cannot help but feel that it is what you have come to speak to me about." Mary said quietly, delicately stating the obvious. Katherine sighed and nodded, turning the door handle and nudging Mary through the door. She looked over her shoulder, gazing down the corridor in both directions to ensure that they were not being tailed. She would not put it past that Devil Boleyn to have people stationed at Ludlow. But, for now at least, there was no spy flitting about at the end of the hall, and the Queen turned and followed her daughter into the sitting chamber, bolting the heavy door behind her.

"Mary, you must sit down. What we are to discuss is…difficult."

Obediently, the young woman pulled one of the solid, sturdy oak chairs away from the table and settled herself down, her slim white hands idly caressing the carved armrests. She turned her face to her mother, watching anxiously as the elder woman paced restlessly before the door, her hands twisting together. Never had she seen her dignified, graceful mother behave in such a manner. She began to worry in earnest, for she could sense something momentous on the horizon.

At last, Katherine sat down across from her daughter and began to explain things; the divorce and how Katherine planned to work out an agreement with the King, how she knew that Mary's father would go to any lengths, perform any cruelty to get what he wanted, how they could both be in very great danger if they continued on this heartbreaking path. Throughout it all, Mary sat and listened. A slim, white faced young woman, quiet and thin lipped as her mother spoke. She sat as still as carved marble, and yet within her there was a wild tempest that tore at her insides, heated her blood, sank icy claws into her heart.

How could she?

How could her mother suggest this…this abomination before God? Was not marriage one of the most sacred sacraments God had given them? Was it not something worth defending, this sacred union between the King and Queen? Was their _family_ not something worth fighting for?

_Why are you doing this? Why are you giving up?_

Mary wanted to scream at her mother, howl at her like some wounded beast and demand to know why _she _wanted to pull everything apart as much as Father did. _She _was the one who was supposed to hold the Royal family together, and now she was trying to destroy them just as surely as that Boleyn whore was! Mary shuddered, her eyes burning with tears.

Why were her parents doing this to her? Why was Mother suddenly so willing to let the Concubine take what was rightfully hers? Why didn't Father think that she was strong enough to be a good Queen? Did they not love her enough to at least _try_…?

"Mary? _Mi cielo_?"

Katherine stared hard at her silent daughter, her throat painfully tight and her heart thundering. Mary was so quiet…too quiet. What must be going through her mind, now? Was she angry with her mother, did she feel betrayed? Oh, it would be no less than what Katherine deserved, if Mary should hate for this, but it was for the best…

"Daughter?"

Slowly, Mary lifted her head and met her mother's gaze with eyes blurred by tears. She looked so small and fragile, sitting in her huge straight-backed chair. Her whole world was in shambles right now, and Katherine wished suddenly that she had never come, never listened to Sir Thomas.

"If only I had been born a boy…none of this would be happening…" Mary whispered, tears trailing down her face. Her mother choked, shoved back her chair and came around the table to pull Mary into her arms.

"Don't you _dare,_" she whispered thickly, a sob rising up from her belly. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this, Mary. It is not your fault that this is happening; never let yourself believe that. You have done nothing wrong, do you understand me?"

Mary buried her face in her mother's shoulder and wailed, her sobs muffled in the heavy brocade of the Queen's gown. She clung tightly to her mother; her knees giving out from under her as she let the full force of her hurt and confusion overwhelm her. Katherine sank down onto the flagstones with her, cradling her child and murmuring quiet words of comfort to her.

"Why are you doing this? If I have not done something wrong, why are you giving up?" she asked, her voice quavering on the edge of hysteria.

"It is the safest way, _bebe_. If I step down, I might be able to preserve your place in the succession. You will be safe, and you will able to be able to keep what is yours."

"But wh-what about _your _rights? _You _are the rightful Queen, not that _harlot_! Why will you not keep fighting for your place?"

Katherine tightened her hold on her precious daughter, kissed the crown of her red head and rocked her as more sobs wracked her thin body. This is what she knew she would never be able to make Mary understand, not if she had a thousand years and all the power of God. She would never be able to convince Mary that her time as Queen had reached its natural zenith and that it was time to gracefully bow out before the axe fell. Mary would not hold with that. She was of Katherine and Henry, and had inherited the combined stubbornness of both her parents. Until Katherine's death, Mary would accept no other woman as Queen.

"It is for the best, sweetheart. In natural circumstances, your father would do nothing to harm us…but he has Mistress Boleyn whispering to him, always, and I fear…I fear that she might convince him to do you great harm if I contest my place as Queen. Better for me to let the girl have her way and keep you where you belong than to risk that."

In her arms, Mary gasped for air, hiccoughed, tried to calm down before the combination of crying and her corset made her pass out. It seemed so…rational…when her mother spoke like this. Even Luther's poisonous heresies might sound like truth if her mother spoke them in such a way…it was a strange power that Mary had just begun to appreciate. She wiped at her eyes and peered up into her mother's noble, beautiful face, wondering all the while why her father thought Anne Boleyn to be lovelier than she.

"If it is what you want, Mary, I will not seek a divorce."

The Princess started in her Royal mother's arms, her sky blue eyes darkening in confusion. This decision…rested with _her_? The parent had suddenly transferred the power to the child, and the child was at a loss.

Her first instinct was to beg her mother to hold on, to keep fighting, for surely the King would see the error of his ways soon…but she could not bring herself to say the words. Her tears had abated for the time being, and Mary looked long and hard into her mother's face, reading her.

She seemed so _tired_. The Queen's pale blue eyes –eyes that she had passed on to Mary- had none of their old fire. They were sorrowful, and worry creased the soft skin at their corners. Black hair was slowly showing the tiniest bit of silver at the temples, and the full mouth looked as though it had not properly smiled in a mountain's age.

Mary's lips parted in astonishment when she finally realized that her brave, vivacious mother was growing _old_. For as long as the Princess could remember, Katherine the Queen always met each day with a sweet smile and silent determination. She was gracious and she was dignified, able to take any slight or disappointment in her stride, and it always seemed to Mary that her mother would remain that way for all time. But it was not so.

For the first time, it dawned on England's Princess that this Great Matter might end up killing her mother. Not by blade or by poison, but by sorrow and brutality. There was more than one way to destroy a person, after all…

No.

That could not happen. It _would not _happen.

Sighing, Mary gently disengaged herself from Katherine's arms and sat awkwardly on the floor, her long legs stretched in front of her as she searched her skirt pockets for a handkerchief. Katherine offered hers, a lovely lace and linen creation, and Mary dabbed her eyes gratefully. Hands folded in her lap, she glanced over at her mother.

"You'll always be the Queen to me, no matter what _they_ might say." She said stubbornly, and smiled.

Startled, Katherine laughed.

-0-

**July 11, 1529**

**Ludlow Castle, the Welsh Marches**

Not six days after the Queen and Princess had their talk, the Duke of Suffolk arrived at Ludlow with a summons from the King. He stood in one of the smaller sitting rooms that Katherine and Mary had claimed as their own, feeling trifle out of place as Katherine dryly asked if he would care for some tea and sweetmeats. He was uncomfortable in this cozy room, as though he were intruding on the mother and daughter's time together, and he well and truly wished to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Madam, the King demands that you return to Whitehall with all haste and answer for your actions." The Duke of Suffolk said gravely, his face as impassive as stone, his eyes fixed on the far wall, just above the Queen's head. Wearily, Katherine sighed and raised her fingertips to her aching temples.

"I confess myself astounded that Henry even noticed my absence." She murmured softly. Only a slight widening of the eyes betrayed Suffolk's shock. Never had he heard the stately, gracious Katherine speak of her Royal husband in such a manner. Always she was the very picture of respect and deference when it came to the King.

"Very well, your Grace. We will leave at once. It will do us no good to keep the King waiting."

Distressed, Mary opened her mouth as if to voice an objection, but shut it just as quickly. There was not point in trying to stave off the inevitable. She only wished her mother could stay with her for longer.

As if sensing her thoughts, Katherine laid her hand over Mary's and smiled soothingly.

"I will return to you as soon as I can, _querida_, and by then everything will be righting itself. Remember: _fortitudo et honor_."

"Strength and honor. Yes, Mother." Murmured the Princess. The Queen bent down and kissed her daughter's brow, then turned to the Duke.

"Lead the way, my Lord."

-0-

**July 15, 1529**

**Whitehall Palace, London**

"Make way for her Majesty the Queen!"

The sea of courtiers parted obediently, heads bent and caps doffed in respect for their sovereign Lady. Katherine passed them by without seeing them, her body taut with nerves. She knew that the moment had come, and that from this day forth, everything would be different.

Katherine halted in the middle of the hall, a painful tightness seizing her throat as she looked upon the much beloved man bowing before her.

"Sir Thomas." She murmured.

"My Queen."

"_Ayudarme, Tomas._"

His warm brown eyes flicked up to meet hers, concern glittering in their dark depths. He nodded to her, speaking but two words,

"Of course."

Easily, he fell into step beside and little behind her, following her small escort as though this were all part of his daily routine. Slowing his longs strides to keep pace with his Queen, Thomas More leaned down and whispered quietly to her, his words nearly swallowed by the murmurs of the courtiers.

"Of what service can I be to you, your Majesty?"

Katherine nodded at her trusted companion, Lady Darrel, and the young woman pressed a folded scrap of parchment into his hand, her eyes cast down. Never once slowing his speed, More unfolded the paper and read the quick note Katherine had penned. A moment later, he looked up at her with incredulous eyes, nearly stumbling over her skirts as he forgot himself and walked but a handbreadth from her side, violating protocol without so much as a second thought.

"You are going to do it, then." He breathed. Katherine nodded, looked up at him, carefully reached down and brushed her fingers against his.

"Will you do it?" she whispered. Hidden by the dark velvet of her skirts and his cloak, Thomas curled their fingers together and squeezed, reassuringly.

"Never doubt me, my Queen."

And then the doors to the throne room loomed before them like the Gates to the Underworld, and the pair edged away from one another, the moment between them dissolving back into the daily formality of Court life. Katherine drew a deep breath and steadied herself, standing tall and proud, as a daughter of Isabella should. It was time. Whatever would happen after this, she drew comfort in knowing that Sir Thomas would be beside her.

The oaken doors opened silently on their hinges, and Katherine strode into the throne room, sweeping an elegant curtsey to the glowering man seated on the gilded throne before her.

"Your Majesty wished to see me?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, the King leapt up from his seat and stormed down from the dais like an angry, avenging god of old, his handsome face reddened by rage.

"How dare you, woman, riding for Ludlow without my permission! What put it into that head of yours to defy my orders?!" the King fumed, prowling before her like a lion on a chain. Katherine squared her shoulders and prepared herself for the battle.

"I had to speak with our daughter about something that concerns her future…and ours, Majesty."

Her tone, not her words, made him halt in his tracks and look around at her. Her voice was as low and lilting as ever, her Spanish accent thick…but she was no longer gentle. Gone was the patience; gone was the sweet tenderness that had won him over time and again in his youth. Instead, the woman before him spoke briskly, strong and clear and without a trace of her loving cadence of old. He stared at her and saw-not his stout, phlegmatic wife of twenty years- but a strong, regal woman who met his gaze unflinchingly, showing no fear.

"And what is it that was so important as to cause you to go behind my back?" he demanded, speaking slowly, finding himself transfixed by this new, outspoken Katherine.

"Our marriage, your Majesty. Or, rather, the ending of it."

Henry drew in a sharp breath and straightened to his full height, obviously stunned by this sudden about-face. Vaguely, he began questioning whether or not he was-in fact-dreaming this surreal encounter up, his troubled mind conjuring visions that did not really exist. Even as a small part of him was wondering at the absurdity of the last few moments, the greater part of his mind snapped to and took charge,

"Speak, my Lady. I am listening."

"It shall be done as swiftly and as simply as possible," Katherine said quietly, speaking with care to avoid angering the King further. "With my consent in the affair, his Holiness will most likely grant a divorce, allowing you to marry that girl. Spain will not war with you, you will not be excommunicated for acting rashly against the Church, and you will get what you have long desired…if, of course, _I _receive what _I _want."

The two monarchs stared at each other across the throne room, neither one backing down or giving in to the other. To look away was to admit to hidden weakness, and to admit to weakness was to leave oneself vulnerable to the enemy. Their gazes held.

"And what is it that you want?" Henry asked lowly.

"My daughter remains a Princess and stays in line for your throne. Ahead of your bastard Fitzroy, ahead of any daughters you might get on the Lady." Katherine stated, hissing out the word 'Lady' in such a way that there was not doubt that the word had lost all noble meaning for her. It was now synonymous with 'whore' in Katherine's mind.

"_What?!_" Henry bellowed, outraged at his wife's impudence. How dare she presume to command _him _on the succession of _his _kingdom? How dare she suggest he betray his Anne in such a fashion? He did not care what kind of compromise she was proposing; he would not stand for this kind of arrogance!

" There is no reason to be upset, Majesty. After all, the Lady Anne is going to give you _sons_. Mary will have no need to inherit the throne if she has legitimate brothers." Katherine replied softly, the traces of a smile coming to her solemn face for the first time during their conversation. Henry gritted his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching as the blood pounded in his veins. He knew when he was being mocked, and, by God, he knew when he was bested. Katherine had caught him before Sir Thomas, backed him into a corner. To refuse her demand would make it look as though he had doubts as to his love's ability to bear boys, something he could not afford, not with everything hanging on that one promise of a male heir. And he would appear ungracious, and stubborn, if he refused her. It was a reasonable demand, and the King knew many would accuse him of being needlessly cruel and spiteful if he insisted on an annulment. The people would rise up to defend their Queen and Princess. The war he was working so hard to prevent could flare to life in a matter of months, ripping England asunder. And it would be upon _his _shoulders.

Katherine had him, and she knew it. Damn her.

"Is there anything _else_, woman?" he asked coldly, his fiery anger chilling into resentment and a very grudging respect. If he had to be beaten by a woman, he was glad it was _her_, and no other.

"Only that I have a title other than the Princess Dowager of Wales, Majesty." Katherine murmured respectfully, her smile growing a little. Henry gave her a deep nod.

"Very well, Katherine, I accept your offer. When the time comes, you shall be styled as the Duchess of Northumberland, and our daughter shall keep her position as Princess of Wales until such a time Lady Anne provides me with a son." Said he, viscously hoping his last few words stung her. But Katherine's ivory face betrayed nothing save satisfaction as she bowed her head to him in respect. She was mollified.

At that time, a previously stunned Sir Thomas cleared his throat, politely calling the King and Queen's attention over to his corner of the throne room. He strode across the hardwood floor and joined the royal pair, looking solemnly at his King and Queen.

"Her Majesty requested my presence as a witness to this agreement, but I serve another purpose here today. I must ask you both to step over towards the Bible." He intoned gravely, gesturing towards the massive, beautifully illuminated volume that rested across the room, enthroned on its sturdy oak stand. It suddenly seemed to dominate the room, drawing the eyes those present. Henry looked sharply at Katherine.

"You would bind me by oath?"

"This is the future of my child, your Majesty. I want to be certain our compromise will hold through." Murmured Katherine, her eyes downcast in a mockery of deference.

"Certain! By God's blood, you behave as though you do not trust me at all!" Henry cried. An awkward, pointed silence fell when Katherine failed to offer a reply. Sir Thomas cleared his throat again.

"Do you consent to her Majesty's proposal, my King?"

"It would seem that I have little choice. Let us have done with it, then." The King muttered bitterly, striding over to the Book and placing his huge hand on the gilded cover. Katherine followed, her little white hand joining Henry's upon the Bible, looking almost comically small by comparison.

"My King, my Queen…before God, and myself, do you both solemnly swear to uphold your respective roles in the agreement you have forged this day? Do you, King Henry, swear to keep Princess Mary as your heir before the Duke of Richmond and any female children you may get on Lady Anne?"

"Yes. I swear." Henry said, gruffly.

"And Queen Katherine, do you agree that you will peacefully consent to a divorce and step down from your current position as Queen?" More continued, looking anxiously to the woman before him, his heart aching for her even as he admired her courage.

"I so swear. On my honor and on my soul, I shall remain true to our bargain." She whispered, softly.

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Hot damn, that took long enough, didn't it? Writer's block like you wouldn't believe on this one, but fortunately for all of us we get to the fun stuff next chapter. Which probably means that shippers of all shapes and sizes will be epically happy.

I really think that the Mary/Katherine confrontation needs some work…it strikes me as a little too repetitive. Any words of advice? Also; the time jumps. Is anyone having problems with those?


	3. Brown Penny

Chapter Three: Brown Penny

Summary: Katherine starts her new life and a visit from a friend gives Thomas More a much-needed push.

Disclaimer: None of the characters within are mine, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise.

Thank you once again for all the lovely, lovely reviews. They give me such glee!

* * *

_"I whispered 'I am too young,'_

_And then, 'I am old enough';_

_Wherefore I threw a penny_

_To find out if I might love._

'_Go and love, go and love, young man,_

_If the Lady be young and fair.'_

_Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny_

_I am looped in the loops of her hair._

_Brown Penny_, by W.B. Yeats

~0~

_**December 3rd, 1529 Greenwich Palace, Presence Chamber**_

The Infanta knelt, head high, and kept her eyes trained on the King, on the red lions of England prowling behind the throne. She was not ready, not just yet, to look to the side, at the other throne. The Boleyn girl had swiftly made herself comfortable in the seat that had once belonged to her. Crowned and clothed in magnificent purple velvet, Anne smiled at her old rival, at once gracious and triumphant.

_Hail Anna Regina._

All in all, Katherine mused, it had only taken a little over five months. Once she and the King had written to Rome and declared their decision to end their marriage, citing the lack of a male heir and the safety of the Tudor dynasty as their main reasons for parting, things had progressed swiftly. Sir Thomas More himself had gone to present the King and Queen's appeal for a divorce to His Holiness, and two months later returned with the Pope's approval and the papers necessary to end the Royal marriage. With remarkably little feeling, Katherine had signed the documents, and it was done. She was officially no longer the King's wife, and no longer England's Queen. But at least it was accepted that she _had been _England's Queen, and Mary remained the heir apparent. Katherine found that she could not ask for more, not even when Henry went on to marry Anne Boleyn a mere fortnight after the final papers were delivered. Any pain that might have plagued her was burned away by the joy she felt upon Henry declaring Mary his sole legitimate heir, ahead of any Princesses born to Anne. Her daughter's birthright- her _future_- was safe.

The Lord Privy Seal stepped forward then, drawing Katherine out of her reverie and into the present moment. Summoning a smile, the Infanta raised her chin and prepared herself for the next step in her new life. His handsome face grave and glad, the King of England rose from his seat and loomed above his former wife

"Katherine of Aragon, Infanta of Spain, it is by order and pleasure of the King that you are today created Duchess of Buckingham and Countess of Essex."

"Rise, your Grace, and be recognized." He said solemnly, delivering the patent of her nobility into her hands.

"I give you my humble thanks, your Majesty." She murmured demurely. With a warm smile, the King helped her to her feet and kissed her once upon each cheek, drawing her a little closer so that he might whisper,

"Well met, my Lady. Truly you are a most worthy opponent."

This time there was a trifle of mischief in Katherine's smile, and for an instant the pair of royals looked on one another like children who were partners in some grand game. His old anger forgotten and his heart made merry by marital bliss, Henry was more than ready to chuckle over Katherine's courage and tactical wit. He felt a sense of shared pride over having successful dealings with such a lioness. Giving his former wife the shadow a wink, Henry turned and faced the sea of couriers.

"Let it be known that the Duchess of Buckingham shall henceforth be honored as a friend of the Crown and as the sister of my heart. Today we shall not only celebrate her elevation, but the birth of a new era in England! We stand upon the brink of a Golden Age- let us honor it!"

And the assembled courtiers gave a roar of approval, applauding their King and rejoicing in the thought that, at long last, the damnable Great Matter had reached its peaceful conclusion. The future lay before them all, and it shone with promise.

_**Later…**_

"It seems almost a crime that the new Duchess of Buckingham, easily the loveliest peer in England, is sitting by the wayside of her own celebration feast. As a lawyer, I feel obligated to right this grave injustice." Thomas said teasingly, giving Katherine an affectionate smile and holding out his hands to her. Katherine chuckled at him, somewhat self-depreciatingly, and shook her head.

"I fear I must refuse, Sir Thomas. I am not as graceful or comely as I once was…I would look quite the fool beside the younger women." She said lightly. Thomas scowled at her, refusing to give in to such a ridiculous notion.

"Nonsense. Come, Katherine; will you not dance with me, just this once?" and again he offered his hands, an infectious smile turning the corners of his mouth. With a sigh, Katherine accepted his hands and allowed herself to be tugged to her feet, caring not when the heavy red mantle slipped from her white shoulders.

"Oh, very well. I must admit that I have never seen you take the floor before, Sir Thomas…I was unaware that you could dance," she said, tucking her hand through the crook of his arm and letting him lead the way. More gave her a rather crooked smile as they wove through the colorful throng of people.

"I cannot. I said that I would right this wrong, not that I would do it in a particularly graceful fashion." He said, winking at her. Katherine laughed, the sweet sound sending a thrill through his body, and suddenly all was right with the world. She was happy, and that was more than enough for him.

"My valiant knight. What would I do without you with me?" Katherine asked fondly, leaning her head upon Thomas' shoulder for a moment. Her knight could not help but beam, even when they both paused to glance warily about. They had trained themselves, over the years, to protect one another by avoiding any sort familiarity. Not even prolonged eye contact had been permitted between them. But in this day, the threat of treason no longer lingered over them. There was a little freedom allotted to them, constrained though it was by the expectations society placed upon a widower and a lady of rank. After all these years, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from them.

"How are your children and your grandchildren, Thomas? Has there been another little Tommy added to your number?" She chuckled, referring to the unfortunate coincidence of all of the More daughters naming their firstborn sons after their father. Thomas grinned and stood a little taller, looking every inch the proud patriarch.

"I am afraid that my new daughter-in-law fully intends to name the next grandchild 'Thomas' and there is absolutely nothing any one of us can do about it." He informed her merrily, leading her into place with the other dancers.

"By Heaven, I do not know how you keep them in order! And they all must look alike, I am certain. Dark haired, dark eyed, longed nosed…no one could ever mistake them for another man's grandchildren." The Duchess said fondly, and Thomas' reply was swallowed by the commanding peal of a drum, rap-tap-tapping the opening notes of the allemande. At once, Katherine slipped easily into the flow of the steps and Thomas tried his best to imitate the other men in the formation. He was not merely jesting when he said he could not dance. Joan had tried to teach him, long ago, and Alice had been making progress before her illness seized her…he had not tried again since he buried his second wife.

Katherine herded him back into alignment with a gentle nudge and tried, subtly, to guide him into a graceful turn. The dear woman was as patient as a saint, naturally, but there really was no helping a lost cause. More smiled at his Queen- well, his Duchess, now, he supposed- and gently squeezed her hand, resting so lightly in his.

While he himself was something of a travesty on the dance floor, Katherine moved with a grace and a lightness of step than many would not expect of her, short and stout as she was. She trod slowly, regally, making every motion precise. The uncertainty that had caught at her feet early on now gave way to pleasing sureness, instinct guiding her over the oaken floor. Thomas More admired Katherine's confident stance, her quiet beauty. He had always thought, privately, that Katherine could command the attention of every man in the room, if she took in her head to try. She was beautiful even now, when she had faded out of her prime, and More knew for a fact that several of the older gentlemen of the Court praised her stately mannerisms, her fair skin and her fine eyes. If she so chose, the lords would lay their devotion at her feet, and she would rule over them as Gwenhwyfar ruled Lancelet.

_/Fortunately for us hapless chaps, she is entirely too modest for such behavior, / _he thought amusedly, taking Katherine by the hand and twirling her about, her skirts a whirl of midnight blue. Smiling, she put her feet together and dipped him a low curtsey, and the humanist realized with a start that the final strains music were now fading in the air, the entire dance over and done before he knew what was what. Well, perhaps that was a blessing.

"One dance," she reminded him, lightly, and with her hand tucked into his arm she left the floor. Thomas noticed that the courtiers had eagerly cleared a great berth for Henry and the new Queen, and that the violinist –Mark Smeaton, if Thomas recalled rightly- was striking up a seductive Volta. With a sensual smile, Anne prowled about her smirking husband, well aware of the hunger in his eyes and the spellbound gazes of the other men. Thomas More looked away, peered down at Katherine of Aragon's composed face and thought; really, this was not as easy for her as she might have others believe.

"How are you? Truly." He murmured, leading her to one of the abandoned tables near the far wall and pulling out a chair for her, thinking it near sacrilege to seat her at so humble a place. And a long sigh escaped the great lady's mouth, and her shoulders fell a little, as though she were tired.

"Often it feels as though nothing save my apartments and title has changed, and sometimes I forget. I feel bound to Henry still, in a way. I do not love him, though. I think I said to Maria, months ago, that it was the memory of how he once was that I loved…I was blind for a long while. And now, with everything said and done…I am content. That does not truly change the fact that it is disconcerting to refer to a former servant as Queen. It is quite…_strange_. To see her sit in the Queen's throne, to see the Crown Jewels adorning her neck and head. To watch her and the King, though one would think I should be used to _that_," she whispered, giving a dry chuckle. She twisted her hands in her lap, and Thomas noticed that she was fiddling at her heart finger, where her wedding ring had gleamed for these past twenty years. It must be very odd indeed, to have it gone, after all this time. Sympathy in his heart, More grasped her hands in his and kissed them, once, twice, thrice; boldly letting his mouth wander to the insides of her wrists. There was a very quiet gasp, and More imagined that she was blushing, darting nervous glances over her shoulder. Perhaps it was too intimate a gesture for so public an occasion, but Thomas did not care. It was a grand thing, to be able to show his love, his devotion. Most men took for granted the small touches exchanged between man and woman, little realizing that nothing could be so precious.

"What are your plans now? You are a free woman, unfettered by any will save your own. You are wealthy, and you are popular in the Court and out of it. The world is yours, so to speak." He stated, gazing into her eyes and letting her hands slip away. She seemed relieved at topic change and leaned back in her seat, a thoughtful air overtaking her.

"To start, I think that I shall move to a manor house in Wales, so that I might be near Mary. The King gave me permission to visit her any time I should wish, you know, and I have missed so much of her life already. It will be wonderful to watch her grow into herself. My poor darling! She is all legs and elbows now, and so unsure of herself."

"Just like Henry was." Thomas observed with a fond smile.

"Yes, so like Henry. She is taller than I now, and only fourteen!" laughed the Duchess, and More was glad to see some of the tension leave her. Though he felt saddened by the thought of her living in Wales, far from the Court and from him, he knew that she would be overjoyed to be near her beloved child.

"But I have other plans, naturally. Maria has been a tireless advisor on how my money should be spent," Katherine said drolly, and Thomas could only grin in reply. "She demands at least one library within the next few years. Personally, I thought I might devote my finances to building better almshouses and orphanages. Hospitals, of course." And a merry gleam came to the former Queen's eyes, and she reached out to touch his cheek.

"And schools, many more schools. They will be open to all, poor and wealthy alike. I think life for the common Englishman would improve greatly if he knew his letters, do you not agree? It would help, at the very least. Oh, Thomas, a school for girls as well, just girls! Reading, writing, history, perhaps even theology- an education to nurture them, keep them on a steady path! Just think of it!" she enthused, her eyes dancing and her face suddenly radiant with eagerness. She was coming into her own at long last. In that moment Thomas More thought that he might burst, so great was his love and pride in the woman before him. Beaming, he leaned forward until their faces were nearly touching and stole a kiss- so light and quick that she almost did not realize it.

"Ah, my Katherine…if I did not love you already, with all my heart and soul, then I would do so now."

-0-

**March 15****th**** 1530**

**London**

"Hurrah for the Duchess!"

"God bless you, madam, and may God's curse be upon your foes!"

"Saint Katherine of London! Long live good Saint Katherine!"

Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, scowled as he peered down at the crowded streets below. Drawn by spirited Andalusian horses, Katherine of Aragon's coach rolled through London's roads, and the lady herself leaned out her window to wave cheerfully to those who flocked to see her. The Duke took a long pull of wine, feeling faintly disgusted by the sight. The damn windows, thick as they were, could not block out the cries from the peasant hordes below.

"See how the people cheer her? It is as if the divorce had never occurred." Norfolk looked over at his brother-in-law, his voice bitter.

"I admit it does seem as though little has changed...Katherine of Aragon is as much beloved now, as Duchess of Buckingham, as she was when she was crowned Queen of England, and as wealthy. As an unmarried woman, she has come into a rather...disconcerting amount of power and independence." Norfolk said slowly, coming to stand at his brother-in-law's side.

"Katherine has no limit to what she can do. With no husband to control her, she goes where she pleases, when she pleases, and behaves in any way she deems fit. She is setting up another almshouse, brother, did you know that? That makes three, as well as a school and an orphanage. The common people are hailing her as a saint, for the love of God! If she is allowed to run about unchecked, then the people will have no love for Anne. No matter how much my daughter may do as Queen, she will never measure up to their precious Duchess of Buckingham, who will have done it all first." the Earl of Wiltshire sneered. Norfolk sighed and nodded, his cold eyes pensive.

"Truth, brother, but you forget this; while the King is still in love with your daughter, no living being can touch us. It will matter not if the people support Anne, the King will keep her at his side. It is only a matter of time before she bears him the son he so desires, and when she does...our enemies will have no power, no matter how beloved they are by England's rabble."

"You speak the rightly, Norfolk, but there is still danger. Even if the Spaniard does nothing to harm to us directly, others might do so in her name. Perhaps it would be prudent to...make arrangements for the Duchess, as we have made arrangements for her daughter."

The silence between the two men was heavy with the implications of Boleyn's words, and neither man looked at his fellow. It was dangerous ground they were walking, and well they knew it.

"Mayhap you are right in your thinking, my Lord. It would serve us well to deal swiftly with her, rather than take chances."

-0-

_**That Same Day…**_

"It is good to have you back, old friend."

"Ah, Morus, 'tis good to _be _back."

Thomas More strode slowly over the sodden earth, his hands clasped around his books and parcels and his attention fixed on the spindly Dutchman wandering beside him. He smiled. It had been nigh upon ten years since last he and Erasmus met face to face, and it was something of a relief to have him back in England where, as far as the More family was concerned, he belonged. He had been living in Basil these last few years, watching slowly as the Reformers slowly transformed into oppressors, smothering the common man as surely as the Catholic Church had done. _I need peace, friend. The days are gone where I can thrive in so hostile an environment. England is like flotsam in the storm to an old wanderer such as I._

The humanists ambled together in companionable silence, Erasmus' face tilted up to take in the weak March sunshine and More constantly shifting papers and books in his arms as he sought to protect the bundle of early flowers he carried. A tide of Londoners flowed around them, many calling out fond greetings to the just and gentle More, the champion of the poor man, the friend of the friendless. His time at Court had not dulled the affection the denizens held for their good Sir Thomas.

"Much has changed since last I visited…the Spanish Queen has now taken up a dukedom and, according to the word among the people, sainthood. While the fine little Queen busies herself with dances and jewels and your King's attentions, Katherine is building schools and putting a roof over the heads of the destitute. The people are in raptures over her." Erasmus stated in satisfaction, his eyes merry. More chuckled fondly, pleased and proud that news of Katherine's charitable exploits had reached the Dutchman so swiftly.

"Oh, yes, she has done some marvelous things these few months past. She just opened a school for girls, you know, and daily the number of pupils grows. Merchants I've known for years to be set dead against enriching the female mind now happily send their girls to learn their letters. London's never seen its like." Said he, pausing to stoop and gather up a spilled parchment. Erasmus grinned.

" It has something to do with the new Queen, I think. Much as they love Katherine, I believe England's people are determined to show Anne Boleyn –or, Anne Tudor, as I suppose she is called now- that she will never be their Queen of Hearts, no matter how the King might cherish her or how charitable she might be in the future."

If Thomas detected the note of wicked amusement in the older man's words, he did not mention it, and instead gripped his friend's elbow to lead him down the well-beaten path that branched off Chelsea's main road. Far from the bustle of the borough, the two of them walked in peace, the chill air so very still that one dared not speak for fear of shattering the grave tranquility. Together they rounded the bend and drew up to the gates of Chelsea's cemetery. The merriment slowly leaving his eyes, Erasmus waited for More to lift the latch and then followed his friend through.

Today was the sixth anniversary of Alice Middleton More's death.

In silence they walked, just the two of them alone among the listless sea of headstones. It was a place of holiness, of faded grief and buried love. Both men knew, through different experiences, that you always loved someone the most when you buried them.

"It has been a long while." Said Erasmus, flatly, still trailing More.

"Yes."

And that was all, until they crested a hill and drifted into the newer part of the burial ground. There was a pale barked tree rising up here, a birch so old and gnarled that it had probably seen the grandfathers of grandfathers toddling at their mother's skirts. It was here, beneath the gray sky and lazily swaying branches, that Alice laid in her final rest.

Slowly, Thomas More knelt before his second wife's grave, cleaning the moss from the epitaph etched upon the stone (_Beloved Wife, Cherished Mother…_), all the while thinking; it is not so bad, now. Not nearly so lonely. With care, he arranged the flowers over Alice's grave, harking back to all the times she'd brought daisies and crocuses and snowdrops into the house, praising them as brave little pioneers. Stubborn little blooms, standing fast against the chill of the wind. Brave indeed.

More knew that Katherine was the true love of his life, but Alice had been his dearest friend. Sometimes there was very little that parted the two.

His work done he sat down beside the headstone, stretching his legs out as Erasmus carefully lowered himself onto the damp spring grass. He patted the earth almost affectionately and murmured, "Hallo, dear Harpy." Thomas chuckled.

"Such strange endearments." Said he, and Erasmus sighed.

"What is strange is this; I miss her. The More house is not right without the Harpy darkening its halls."

He spoke truth, of course, and Thomas felt a dull ache in his heart. He did not sigh or flinch when Erasmus asked his next question;

"What was it that killed her?"

"We are still unsure. She found a strange growth upon…upon her breast. At first we all though nothing of it- life brings strange bumps and blotches to our door in the older years, after all. She ran the house as well as ever…and then she began to slow down. Lost some weight, lost her color. She got weaker, then, and young Ally and Cecily began taking on more of the work," More covered his face with his hands, massaged his temples. Lost himself in the memory of Alice's steady decline. "By God, she was so brave. Even when she could barely breath from the pain, she tried to make light of it. She fought bed rest tooth and nail until the very last drop of strength left her, absolutely refused to let the girls do her share. It was only towards the very last few weeks that she stopped resisting."

And that's when they all knew the end was coming, when she just lay there and tried to smile.

"You wrote that the end was quiet. Was it so?" Erasmus asked, gently.

"She left in her sleep. As soft and quiet as one could wish, and I was glad for it. The dear woman bid me a good night, smiled, and closed her eyes. A mere hour later she was with God."

"It was a calm passing, then. No one could ask for better." The Dutchman said, and More nodded. Erasmus hesitated but a split second before speaking again, choosing his words with care.

"And I imagine that you have been quite lonely, these six years past." It was not a question. Thomas looked over at his friend, one brow raised. He replied, of course, he often felt wanting for Alice's cheerful, earthy company. But he had his friends and his family, didn't he, and was there not anything more comforting than that? With the air of a general planning a complex and difficult campaign, Erasmus paused once more and considered what was to be said.

"Friends provide company, yes, and children and grandchildren give comfort; but _love_, Morus, what of that? What of having a woman to warm you in the night, to keep by your side? Such a thing cannot be gotten from kin or comrades."

For his part, Thomas More could not have looked more shocked if his longtime friend had waltzed up and slapped him across the face with a hymn signing trout. Slowly, it became apparent…

"You…you cannot be saying that I should _marry_, Erasmus. I am an old man-."

"If fifty two qualifies as old age, then I myself am a corpse."

"An old man and a _humble_ man. What woman would have me?"

"Ah. What woman. What woman _indeed_." murmured Erasmus, and there was a sly sort of edge to his voice as he said it. Thomas looked sharply at his companion.

"No."

"You have been in love with her for the nearly the entirety of your life, Thomas. Now, she is finally free from her marriage to the King and you…you are without a wife, without love or a companion. It is God's will, Morus, surely you can see that! At long last, after years of denying your love, you and Katherine can finally be happy together, as man and wife! You would be a damned _fool_ if you did not marry her!"

In a single, fluid movement Thomas More lunged to his feet and whirled around to face his friend, fairly snarling with anger and frustration, his dark eyes flashing.

"It is not a simple as all that, Erasmus! I remain but a poor knight and Katherine is still a Princess of Spain. Royals, even ones styled as mere nobles, do not marry commoners. Even now, she is beyond me! Even now, I cannot have her!" he shouted, pacing furiously, his hands clenching and flexing as though he longed to grapple with the injustice of the situation, choke the life out of it. Erasmus watched jadedly, his eyes following his tormented friend's every movement. By God, he would knock sense into this lovelorn poet's head if it happened to be the last earthly thing he did!

"Horseshit," the Dutchman said sharply. "Save for you and her and perhaps your fool King, it is no one's business if a lawyer should wed a Princess or a Duchess or whatever it is your Lady is called now. Katherine would marry you in a heartbeat, if you asked her; she would not care about your so-called humble status." More halted, stared intently down at his fellow scholar, shifted his weight restlessly from one foot to the other. The truth of Erasmus' words stilled him a moment, unsettled him.

"What sort of life could I give her, though? I do not earn enough to support her in the way she is accustomed."

"I say it again, Morus; _she would not care_. Besides, Katherine is no simpering milksop. She will adjust."

Thomas slowly shook his head, as if dazed, and stared off over the graveyard, quiet and pensive. Erasmus knew him well enough to know that the younger man was weighing his options, carefully allowing the seed of hope to bloom. Softly, he murmured,

"Alice would want you to be happy, Tom. She would want you to have someone to be with, someone to be a grandmother to your horde of grandchildren. Alice would not approve of your being alone."

Still More was silent, his back turned to Erasmus as he stewed in his own thoughts. Frowning and telling himself it was for the greater good, Erasmus pulled out his last weapon.

"Thomas, listen to me now. You must marry Katherine. _You must_. You told me when I first arrived, and even in your last few letters, that older nobles are circling your lady love like a pack of hounds, sniffing her out for conquest. Tell me, do you truly wish to loose the woman you love to some strutting, useless ponce who has no true feeling for her? Would you condemn her and yourself to lives filled with misery and regret? I know you, Thomas. I know that you will despise yourself until the four Horsemen come riding if you do not even _try _to have a life with Katherine. Is this what you want?"

He saw More flinch, saw those broad shoulders tense at the idea of Katherine being taken up by another man. Patiently, the humanist waited. Slowly, Thomas More turned around again, a strange mixture of fear and joy upon his face.

"No. That is not what I want. I want her. Only her." He whispered, and it seemed that the words filled him with awe. By God, how he had longed to say it!

"And so you will win her?" Standing and putting his hand on his shoulder, Erasmus favored him with a small grin.

"Yes."

And this time it was the Englishman's turn to smile.

-0-

**March 17****th****, 1530**

**Castile House, London**

It was around four o'clock in the afternoon, and Katherine was just sitting down to a quiet luncheon when a merry Lady Darrell entered, curtsied, and mentioned that Sir Thomas More was here to see her. Startled but pleased, Katherine bid her lady to show him in, and requested that a place be made up for him at the table. As Lady Darrell slipped back out into the hall and the servers laid out the plate, goblets and knives, Katherine pondered what brought Thomas to her door at this time. It was not like him to not send word when he visited.

"Sir Thomas More, your Grace."

The Duchess rose to greet her guest, politely dismissing Lady Darrell and her attendants so that she and Thomas might have a moment of privacy. With a warm smile, she came forward into his arms and kissed him, something she had only just recently allowed herself to do. Like a man in a dream, his hands settled lightly at her waist and he smiled faintly down at her.

"Hello, _querido_. What an unexpected pleasure, to have you here." Said she, leading him by the hand to her table and serving him a portion of rich stew. Thomas, who had yet to utter a word, stared down at the thick, spicy soup as if questioning its right to be there.

"How have you been, Thomas? I hear that Erasmus has returned to England, is he in good health? Is he still the same merry philosopher I recall so well?" she inquired, watching him from across the table as he spooned up some of his stew.

"Yes. What? Oh, yes, Katherine, the man is as lively and witty as ever. I intend to bring him to Court soon; it should be akin to dropping a keg of gun powder into a bonfire." he said, tasting his mouthful of food before pushing his plate away. Nervously, he tapped his fingers upon the table and glanced around the finely furnished room, recognizing many of the things that had once resided in the Royal apartments. Katherine had made sure to strip the rooms _bare _before handing them over to Anne Boleyn.

"So…I see your work with this place is coming along well." He noted idly, and Katherine noticed that his hand kept straying to his pocket. Perplexed as to why he was so jumpy, the Infanta nodded and glanced around at their surroundings with a faint sense of pride. This manor house had been shabby at best, slowly slipping into ruin when she'd bought it. In a matter of months, her army of carpenters and masons had worked new life into the house's timbers and stone, and she had christened Castile House, as a small honor to her mother; a tiny bit of Spain in England's capital city.

"Thank you. It has been a labor of the heart, and I am quite pleased with-."

"Katherine, would you care to take a walk with me? In the gardens?"

Startled, the Duchess cast him a curious glance and slowly laid aside her napkin and spoon. Thomas truly was behaving most oddly today; he looked as though he were about ready to leap out of his seat. But she consented, naturally, for she would enjoy a long stroll with her beloved, chilly though it was. She called for a maid to bring her cloak to her, had the servants clear away their barely touched meal, and went with Thomas out the side door of the house, into the wet, frigid March air and the sodden gardens.

Arm in arm the pair wandered, enjoying each other's company. The sun shone weakly upon them, and everywhere one cared to look, barren branches carried the tight black buds of new foliage. The very air was bursting with the promise of spring. Traveling aimlessly over the garden's winding paths, they came to the great weedy pond and stopped before it, standing tranquilly together as they looked to the sky, the gently swaying trees, the still green water choked by reeds. There was silence between them, though perhaps a silence with little ease in it. Katherine and Thomas had been quiet before, and always it was soft and comfortable. Not this time, though. It was awkward, the silence, and from Thomas there came an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Hoping to soothe him, Katherine nudged Thomas, peered up at him, noted the tension in his face and in his hands.

"What troubles you?"

Her voice, gentle though it was, made Thomas start and blink down at her, as though he were just noticing her for the first time. Fingers curling nervously into his palms, Thomas offered her a half smile and leaned closer to her.

"Nothing, my dear, nothing troubles me. What makes you think otherwise?" he asked, though he knew very well of what she was speaking. His love reached out and caught one of his great worrying hands in her own much smaller one. She pulled it to her and gently, gently, unfurled each finger one by one.

"You are restless. You do not speak. You do not look me in the eyes." Said she, very softly.

Two white fingers ghosted over his palm, tracing the familiar landscape of shallow canyons and gentle hills. Large, callused, filled with strength…blunt. He had always been somewhat ashamed of how rough his hands were, though he had written wonders with them. Thomas went very still at her touch, and felt himself standing at the brink of a great precipice; below, the Unknown patiently awaited him, dreadful and wonderful and vastly different than what he had thus far known in his life.

In a moment, however, he realized that Katherine was waiting for an answer, and Thomas licked his lips. Slowly, he folded his fingers over hers, like petals closing over the precious center of a flower.

"You know me too well, my Lady. Better than I know myself, I think." He murmured. She chortled at that, brought her free hand up to cup his cheek. Their eyes met, blue peering into brown.

"I am worried, that is all. We have always been in harmony, and it is jarring to see you behave so oddly, Thomas. I cannot help but wonder what is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, my heart. I am just…no. Never mind."

He could tell that she did not believe a word coming out of his mouth, but if there was one thing Katherine of Aragon had learned in her forty-odd years of life, it was patience. Thomas would tell her in his own time.

Thomas led his lady around the rim of the pond and slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her into his side and relaxing, just a little. Her warm presence soothed his frazzled spirit, her trust and tenderness putting him at his ease. The humanist smiled down upon his Duchess, admiring the way her hair fell against her neck and shoulders, cherishing her tranquil smile. Slowly, his anxiety left him, the solace of memory rising within him. He had loved Katherine nearly from the first moment he saw her all those years ago. Through years of joy and peace and fear and conflict, they had remained devoted to one another, in their hearts and souls, and they would remain so until Judgment Day. He thanked God, again, for putting Katherine upon this Earth, for allowing him to find her and have her in his life. This woman was his heart, his joy, the other half of his soul in the living flesh.

Almost shyly, Katherine looked up at him, smiling in a slightly worried way as if to ask, are you all right? And with that one smile, that slight turning of the corners of her mouth, Thomas More felt as though he had never really lived until this one moment. Now. The time was now.

"Katherine."

Thomas More halted in the middle of the path, turned to the woman beside him and cradled her face in his great square hands, holding her as though she were made of something precious and fragile.

"Katherine, do you love me?" he asked, his heart wild with hope and love and terror. Katherine reached up, touched his hands and leaned into his touch. Of course she loved him, of course. How could he doubt it? He looked deeply into her eyes, holding her gaze, summoning every last ounce of courage he had to his name.

"My love, I…I am not a great man, nor am I a wealthy man. Humble blood flows through my veins, as well you know, and you are the daughter of great Kings. I am absolutely unworthy of you." He began, stepping back from Katherine and pacing before her, raking his fingers through his graying brown hair. She merely stared at him with eyes gone round. Her lips parted, her heart thundered in her breast, and she felt as though the world might fall out from beneath her. Weakly, Katherine felt behind her for the stone bench and sat down, her eyes never once leaving Thomas.

"Thomas…Thomas, what are you saying?" she whispered. He turned about, knelt before her on the moist earth, gently clasped her hand in both of his. More looked tenderly at her, his dark eyes earnest.

"You are the only woman I have ever truly loved, Katherine. If…if you were to be with me, I swear to you on all that is sacred and just that you will want for _nothing_. Every day I will cherish you, and you will never know doubt or sorrow again. I can offer you little in the way of jewels or fine gowns or grand homes, love, this I know…but I offer you my entire heart, my whole self. I am yours. I ask you now, Katherine of Aragon, if you would do me the honor of being my wife."

Katherine was weeping, softly, her body shaking. She was half convinced that this was some beautiful, intangible dream, something that would vanish with morning's first cruel light. Her hands shook as she caressed Thomas' pale face. His skin was warm, delightfully warm, and she realized with a start that this was _happening_.

"Yes."

Thomas More stared for what seemed an eternity, hardly daring to believe his own ears. Before him, Katherine was weeping freely, radiant with joy. He had never seen her so beautiful.

"Do…do you mean it? Oh, Katherine, my Katherine…you will have me, poor as I am?" he whispered.

And suddenly he had her in his arms, all warmth and silken black hair and tears and sweet perfume, his Katherine, his beloved, his bride.

"I would marry you, Thomas, even if you were the poorest pauper on God's good green Earth!" she sobbed, her face buried in the crook of his neck, and Thomas laughed, loud and long, his joy bubbling over within him like a great fountain. She was his! At long last, she was his! Ecstatic, he brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her passionately, holding her with all the strength he had. By the grace of God, he would never again let her go!

* * *

_Three feckin' months gawd __**damn**__. _Life. It happens. I am so sorry. I hope this chapter makes up for it. Rest assured that our beloved couple is in for some interesting times up ahead, and fluff shall abound. And, Anne fans, don't worry, you'll get some Boleynrific scenes soon. Mary fans, you too. It's all fan service from here on out. ;) I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter (as you can tell, certain bits were rushed), and any constructive criticism or suggestions would be lovely.

I luffs you, m'dahlings. Review and tell me what a horrible procrastinating twit I am.

TEAM TOMKAT FTW!!

- Doc


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